She didn’t seem to be too thrilled about her set, but I’m excited. Well, aside from the fact that they’re purple. Green would’ve been more my style, but wings are wings. Once everythin’ calms down, flyin’ lessons are the first thing on my agenda.
Flint tosses more glass to the corner, and I try not to think about the sting at my back as he goes, so I keep my mind occupied by wonderin’ about what other abilities might come to me. Will I instinctually take to the wings like I did with the scythe? Delta indicated that learnin’ wards and things was difficult, so I’m not sure what to expect.
My thoughts drift to her and the talk we had this afternoon. I have a sister. It’s weird to say that, and yet at the same time, it feels oddly natural. Before those demons showed up, everythin’ was goin’ well between us. She was easy to talk to, and I felt connected to her, which I suppose isn’t too strange because we’re sisters, so maybe it’s in our blood to be linked. Which makes sense, since it seemed to be her blood that broke the rest of my wards and turned me into a purple demon bird. Maybe it’s a twin bond thing.
No, not twins. Triplets, my mind corrects.
Sable.
I can’t help but wonder if she’s okay. Did she find a nice family after the ones Nefta left her with gave her up? Worry trickles through me at that thought, and I fear that the answer to that question might be bleak. What kind of people give up a three-year-old? What’s the likelihood that she would’ve found a warm and lovin’ home after that? I got lucky, but what if she didn’t?
I shove my pessimism away. I found good parents, so it’s not impossible. There’s still hope.
Seemingly satisfied, Flint lowers my wing and moves on to the other. I can’t hide the shiver that runs through me as his hands work the purple appendage, checkin’ for glass through the feathers. I bite my lip, wonderin’ what he thinks about them. His hands move gently as he checks beneath the feathers, and even though he’s touchin’ me to ensure he gets every shard out, I feel like he’s workin’ my body into a frenzy instead.
I hear him take long, deep, measured breaths like he’s tryin’ to calm himself, and I search through my troubled mind for a topic we can discuss that will distract us both.
“So, mate, huh?” I ask and then instantly want to facepalm.
Yeah, I’m infinitely curious about the term he applied to me not just once but twice. Although right now, when he’s pissed and cold and hard, it’s probably not the time to bring it up.
Flint man-grunts. “Don’t you start,” he snaps at me, and irritation lights up my insides. Here I am, tryin’ to make the ass feel better, and he’s gonna snap at me? I don’t think so.
I stew on his terse tone and clipped words as he pulls the rest of the glass from my back and then lowers my wing. I move further under the showerhead, forcin’ Flint to back up or embrace the wing-chest bump. Naturally, he backs up. Stubborn ass.
I reach for the small bottle of shampoo and quickly wash my new lilac strands, conditionin’ them just as fast.
He stands stock still, his back pressed against the tile wall, his hands fisted at his sides. Droplets keep landin’ on his face and chest, and water has saturated his blue jeans, makin’ the fabric cling to his hard body. But he doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t reach for me. I grit my teeth in frustration.
I threw myself at them before, and we’ve been flirtin’ for weeks, but every time I think we’re gonna get somewhere, they just won’t cross that line with me. And yet he’s gonna go and call me their mate? He’s gonna stand here while I’m wet and naked, and not say or do a damn thing, and make me feel unwanted and undesirable? Enough is enough.
“Look, I’m appreciative of everythin’ that you and Alder have done to keep me and my family safe, but if you think for one second that you can snap at me like that, you’ve mistaken who I am,” I say evenly.
His eyes flare, his mouth pressin’ into a thin line, but I face him, lettin’ both the steam and my emotions billow between us.
“We ain’t some bickerin’ couple. You don’t get to fast